


Swimming Home

by sasha_b



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Kink Meme, M/M, Poor Charles, Poor Erik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 18:33:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1698386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mansion and Charles provide a safe haven for Erik.  Post DOFP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swimming Home

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a great prompt on the LJ Kink Meme: (paraphrasing) the mansion is a safe place for Erik, but Charles won't see him. Up to author if he ever chooses to.
> 
> I was a reader of the comics a long time ago, and chose to use a few elements of them for my own purposes here.
> 
> SPOILERS FOR all of DOFP.
> 
> I am so happy to be back in this fandom!
> 
>  
> 
> _I was looking to the sky_  
>  When I knew I’d be swimming home  
> And I cannot betray my kind  
> They are here - it’s my time
> 
>  
> 
> Evanescence - Swimming Home

The small TV in Charles’ study flickers with the power of the rain that’s passing, but it works well enough for him to see the talking head on the screen discussing the latest possible place the “…nationally wanted terrorist, Magneto,” might be.

He tries not to look up from his papers, but the sounds of Erik’s name draws his attention and he’s still staring at the TV when Hank knocks on the study door, tray in hand, tea for both of them balanced precariously on the metal thing.

“You’d think he’d learn to stay out of the news.” _Considering what the government will do to him if they catch him, and considering that I let him go._

_I let him go._

“He’s kind of a megalomaniac, professor. News is what he does.” Hank’s voice is stiff and tight.

Charles bites his lip but doesn’t reply, taking the proffered tea, turning away from the tiny screen, bending his head over the enrollment paperwork and puts his back to the news that tells him things he already knows.

*

He wakes at 3:13 am exactly, sitting bolt upright, expecting the unsteady knock before it comes.

Sliding into his chair, he pilots himself toward the main door, the small amount of light coming from the windows just enough for him to see the hallway. He could navigate it blind, but still.

He gets close to the door and closes his eyes, knowing what to expect before he opens it, but surprise crosses his face – surprise and worry and anger and something akin to the love he had felt – does feel – no. Hank appears at his shoulder, disheveled, his clothing hastily drawn on.

“Professor?”

“Open the door, Hank. Do what he wants. Just – help him.”

Hank stares at Charles for a moment, but then nods. He waits. Charles turns his chair around and moves back toward his room, Hank waiting to open the door until he’s gone.

Charles is thankful Hank is loyal, but he knows he’s not stupid, either.

He shoves a hank of hair out of his face, pushing back into his room, and as soon as the door shuts behind him he closes his eyes and touches his temple with his left hand.

_Come in._

_Hank faces Erik, who’s hunched over and dripping and looking a lot worse than Charles has ever seen him. He’s wearing a black shirt and black trousers and Charles (through Hank’s thoughts) has no idea where the uniform or the helmet is –_

_Where is he?_

_Not here. Do you want my help or not?_

_You’re not a very good liar, Beast._

_Hank holds back a growl but jerks his head toward the kitchen, Erik following, limping slightly; his head is held up, though, eyes wide and unquestioning, power and strength radiating from him despite his obvious weariness._

Charles stays with Hank’s mind, not wanting to give in to the temptation to either punch Erik or embrace him.

*

Hank starts tea as Erik peels off his wet shirt.

There’s a large bruise on Erik’s right ribs and his face is white and lined and Charles _blinks as he stares at Erik’s chest through Hank’s eyes._

_He doesn’t move._

_Turn towards me._

_Erik laughs, and it’s bitter and so unlike the man Charles knows that Erik’s become it makes him shudder in his chair, watching like a voyeur from Hank’s mind._

_You going to try and kill me again, Hank?_

_You survived just fine. Magneto._

_Hank wraps Erik’s ribs roughly, not caring when the other man jerks from the pain, and after he finishes he snaps the medical kit shut and sets it on the counter._

_Erik opens his mouth to speak, but Hank looks at him, and he closes his mouth, cocking his head – the smile that comes next is not what Hank or Charles had expected._

_Charles suddenly remembers a day he walked with Erik to the edge of his property, where a giant satellite dish still sits, and he bites at the inside of his cheek in his darkened room and also remembers that Erik had allowed bits of RFK stadium to almost crush him._

_He understands Erik; he always has. But they don’t want the same thing, not anymore, no matter what he’d like to think when he’s alone at night and empty._

_You can fix yourself some of this, and there’s a room for you. He says you can stay as long as you need to._

_Thank you. Charles._

_Hank’s head turns with the force of Charles’ control and Hank and Erik stare at each other._

Charles lets go and Hank stumbles slightly, Erik not moving to catch him, and he leaves the kitchen, Erik staying behind, shirtless, still dripping and injured, but Charles brings his consciousness back into his own body and knows he owes Hank an apology.

Charles gets back into bed, and although he knows he’ll be able to tell when Erik leaves, he stays in his room, shuttered and angry and he finally allows a few tears to slip out despite the pain in his head and his heart and _fuck_ he wants a drink. He has a few dark impulses – the serum Hank still takes is in the other room – but he can feel Erik going to lay down and he shuts his brain down completely, thoughts of what could have been shoved to that place he saves for when he does drink and can’t stand the silence anymore.

*

A few days later Charles enters his study, the first day of the new (brand new, again) semester twenty-four hours away, and he’s got a stack of papers on his lap, keys in his mouth, hands on the controls, and he turns too quickly toward his desk, knocking into the bookcase he rarely looks at (too many) and something clatters on the other side. He cocks his head.

Moving around the edge of the bookcase, he stops short, the papers in his lap sliding to the ground.

“Erik,” he sighs, and twisting his hands he approaches the chessboard, one piece moved, ready for him.

His button down is too warm suddenly, and he shifts forward, leaning on his knees, elbows bent, long hair slicked back from his face. He studies the board for a few moments, contemplating, remembering. After about thirty seconds of _no, I won’t do this_ he blinks heavily, eyes wide and focused, and he reaches out a steady hand toward the game board.

*

The next time Erik comes it’s closer to six am.

Charles doesn’t go to the door, this time. He has classes to worry about, and students that will be waking soon. He feels Hank wake - _please, just see to him_ \- and he sighs imperceptibly as the other man does what he asks without question.

He’d thought to go back to sleep, but he tosses and turns and finally curses and sits up and finds Hank’s brain in the kitchen, his fingers touching his temple, his eyes closing –

_…but how is he, really?_

_You can ask him yourself, if he chooses to see you. You can use that same room, Erik. Don’t let the students see you._

_Hank turns to Erik to direct him out of the kitchen – Erik sways after him, the pits below his eyes dark and puffy and his skin is white and bruised looking and Charles knows immediately he’s not slept in more than three days and he wants to get up and go to him out of habit, out of desire, but he remembers the ‘goodbye, old friend,’ and he stops. He sees Erik through Hank’s eyes, exhausted, trembling, grey and shaken and he wants to go so badly, but after the last time, after the fight with Logan and Raven and he just can’t._

Erik stays a full day and night this time, and Charles doesn’t go anywhere near the bedroom he saves for Erik, will save for Erik, he realizes.

After his World History class he retreats to his study and refuses to look at the chessboard.

He manages to hold to his guns for about ten minutes, and sighing, rounds the corner by the mostly unused bookshelf and looks at the game in progress.

His move.

*

The next time it’s Hank in trouble.

Charles sits in his chair behind his closed door; he listens to the information Erik gives Hank. It’s legitimate information; the government has finally gotten hold of footage from the day they’d almost lost Raven – it’s been analyzed and they’re thinking Hank is a danger, just like Magneto is. Just like any mutant the government doesn’t trust.

Xavier’s School For Gifted Youngsters, not Mutants. Charles knows he’s a hypocrite in a way, but he values the safety of his students above all other things.

He won’t see Erik, no matter that he is proving valuable.

He curses with volatile strength the next day when he sees the chessboard has been moved to the coffee table that had held his classroom reports and various things he’s been writing himself.

“You bastard,” he spits, and raises a hand toward the thing.

*

He wakes alone a few months later, tears spilling from his eyes, his body wracked with pain, phantom limbs he can lift and touch but can’t feel anymore. His breath comes in gasps and he clutches at his heart; it pounds and he wonders that no one else can hear it besides him. He wonders just a brief moment _why_ he feels like this today, but he discards it and responds to his emotions.

He slides into his chair and is out his door and down to the end of the corridor, opening the door to the other bedroom without thinking about it.

Erik turns, his cheekbone purpled and his arm held at an awkward angle at his side; the scars on his back are white and flat and Charles remembers then, remembers the first time he’d seen them, and he swallows and maneuvers toward the bed where Erik sits. Erik’s left arm looks broken at first, but Charles reaches out and touches it, and Erik sighs and lets it settle on his lap. The small black numbers there are blurred but visible. Charles lets his fingers drift over them, and Erik, who would have once jerked away from the touch there, shuts his eyes and lowers his head.

“I’ve found a place,” he says hesitantly, softly. “A place I can take my brotherhood and be safe. I’m tired of running. The humans are persistent.”

Charles looks at him.

“It’s an island. Uninhabited. For now. It will suit my purposes and I can do what I need to do, there.”

“You’ll stay there for a while,” Charles says the words already knowing the truth. He already knows what the island – Genosha – looks like. Erik’s too tired to keep up barriers and he sways, leaning toward where Charles sits in his chair. “Yes,” he answers, his eyes still closed.

_I want to stay here. I want to stay in your home._

“You can,” Charles jerks but remains still. “You know what you have to do, though, Erik. It has to be safe for _my_ family as well. No more death.” As he says the words he sucks back the tears that had woken him – and now he knows why they had. He wipes under his eyes with a wrist and rolls closer, facing Erik, their knees almost touching.

He can’t feel it, of course, but he remembers, and that’s enough. The anger he carries is heavy and always there - _she didn’t do this Erik. You did_ \- but he shakes his head slowly and puts out a hand, touching the other man’s face. It’s dark outside and Erik’s shaking like he’s cold and he barks a laugh and opens his bright eyes, shining in the pits of his worry and lack of sleep.

“Did you like the game?”

“I’ve not won it, yet.”

“Well, then,” Erik says as he stumbles up, reaching behind Charles to the dresser that sits against the wall. “Let’s finish it, shall we?”

He sets the board he’s retrieved from the study on a small table that holds drinks and a Tiffany lamp and almost falls over the chair but sits in it, waiting for Charles to follow, holding out his hand. “Come, Charles. Let’s finish this.”

Charles’ head throbs with Erik’s heart, but he rolls forward and transfers to the other chair and picks up his piece, thinking.

*

They finish. Charles wins.

Erik stares at him, the whites of his eyes bloodshot, his shirtless skin bumping with the chill. Charles removes his robe without a word and hands it over, Erik taking it with a _thank you_ that echoes through Charles’ guts and he curls his hands into fists, anger overwhelming everything and he can’t stand it anymore and he turns and knocks the chessboard over, the pieces flying and he jerks at the collar of his robe that Erik wears, and tugs the other man toward him.

He opens his mouth, his mind, and he takes a breath, ready for the words to pour out –

They don’t. Nothing comes, because he’s said everything he can.

_I do want to stay with you here, Charles._

Charles closes his eyes, but keeps the robe gripped in his hands.

_I … I know, Erik._

Erik leans forward and lays his cheek on Charles’, drunkenly, exhausted and wan, the fight gone out of him, but only because it’s Charles and Charles knows that and hates and loves him all over again. They lean against each other and Charles grips the robe in his hands until the sun crests the horizon and Erik’s still there, despite his island and his thoughts of brotherhood and Charles finally lets go of the robe, leaning back, feeling ancient and things he can’t even describe.

Erik sleeps in the chair, and Charles knows he won’t stay, but he waits and watches anyway, his hands now loosely settled in his own lap.

The chessboard and its pieces lay on the ground, forgotten, the white king hidden under the edge of the dresser that sits by the open window.

In the morning Charles jerks awake, his neck sore and he raises a hand, rubbing it, eyes going to the chair where Erik had been. The bedroom is empty but –

“I brought you this.”

Erik maneuvers a pot of tea on a tray, his uniform and cloak immaculate, his face still betraying a tad bit of the exhaustion, but this Erik is the one Charles had seen at the White House, and he rolls his lips inward as the breakfast sets itself down on the table where the chessboard had been. The sun is watery but out and Erik stands at his feet, looking down at Charles.

_Thank you, Charles._

Charles shakes his head.

_You always have a place here, with me._

Not what he had expected to think, but there it is and Erik nods slightly. _I have my cause. But I thank you, old friend._

Charles reaches for the tea. “Your cause is ours, Erik. You know how I feel. Just because we have different ideas – you know they’ll catch you, one day.” _And I might not be able to save you, that time._

Erik kneels. He touches Charles’ longish hair and smiles. _This place…you._

_You have, already._

Charles’ eyebrows descend and Erik kisses him briefly, softly and stands and is gone in the blink of an eye.

Two days later when Charles is looking for a certain sweater he thinks he’s left in the study – damn the drafts in this place – something catches his eye and he turns to his desk and the white king that’s sitting there, placidly, on the center of the blotter.

He twists his mouth but allows the small smile to come.


End file.
